


dis-quiet

by Hope



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-12
Updated: 2006-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-03 10:32:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hope/pseuds/Hope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>http://hopeful-fiction.livejournal.com/41058.html</p></blockquote>





	dis-quiet

Dean only lets him drive sometimes, like when they're not-fighting. As opposed to fighting. And Sam's able to identify the difference between the two because with the not-fighting, the car's quiet without music and Dean's braggadocio.

The not-fighting isn't about who's in charge or who gets to make the decisions, none of that chest-puffing crap Dean's always managed to drag him into (who gets to ride shotgun next to Dad, or who gets to go and choose the sodas); the not-fighting's always marked with Dean's silence. With Sam's common sense kicking back into gear at the back of his head, and somewhere in the back of his throat, making him hyper-consciously aware of Dean slouched in the seat next to him, knees up on the dash, leather shrugged up around his ears.

The wheel's slick and clammy in Sam's palms, and the car growls up into a thicker purr as he presses his foot down a little further. The scenery's saturated by the tinted glass of the car window, and watching the dirty bandage of road stretch out in front of him the movement of the trees, houses, fields alongside seem shaky in contrast to the car's smooth movement, making him nauseous.

When they get to a town far enough away from the city Sam pulls them into a gas station, and the clunk-creak of their doors opening is simultaneous. As is the abrupt jerking up of their heads as a siren peals, and then the ungainly red-and-white block of an ambulance whines rapidly past them. Sam turns to Dean before Dean's turned away from staring after it, and he finds words coming out of his mouth before he's even thought about what they are, not-remembering the not-fighting, just wanting Dean to look at him again, to look away from the empty street.

"They always reminded me of icecream trucks, when I was a kid." Dean looks at him then, and Sam continues in a stutter, offering it as an explanation, "the shape of them, and the colours. Noise."

And now's the moment that Dean comes back with something about how Sam's not quite right in the head, and how as someone who is such a a champion of 'normal', Sam manages to always come across as the creepy one.

"I'm going to the bathroom," Dean says, and Sam ducks his head. "Fill the tank."

When Dean comes back to the car Sam's already in the passenger seat, and he slides in behind the wheel without pause. The road-sound is louder with Dean's window wound down, and it's like the enriched colours from outside are flowing into the car, filling the air, making it thick and cool and damp. Sam watches the road for a measured length of time before speaking.

"Thought you were rescuing me from the business of ambulance chasing."

Dean smirks a little, but doesn't stop his attentive peering at the streets around them. "Well this business is a little different."

"I know," Sam's quick to respond, to jump back to the battle rather than feeling particularly strongly about winning this round. "Less money." He pauses for a moment. "And people take you more seriously when you're in a suit."

And then the car's filled with the sound of the road again, and Dean's not-talking.

"Is this something we need to talk about?"

"No," Dean doesn't look away from the road, doesn't look to Sam. "Sometimes we get it wrong, is all. There's nothing needs fixing. And I don't know about you, but," and he glances to Sam at last, eyebrows raised a little, lips curled. "That's not something I'm about to start being disappointed with."

Sam thinks of the city they just left, the people they left in it. Thinks about college, about the people there, about Jessica and her family. Thinks about the hollowness in his gut that sank into existence at the voice Sam heard when he pressed redial on Dean's cell, when Dean had come back from the bathroom and gone to pay for the gas.

*

They round a corner and the ambulance is there, skewed up on the pavement in front of a damply stained church. The street's crowded and Dean gives an involuntary exclamation of triumph that's followed by the swift swerve of the car into a parking space that is, against all odds, available.

"It's a sign," Dean says, eyes bright and grin wide, before they push on out of the car. He starts crossing the street almost before the sound of the doors slamming has crunched out, and Sam goes after him; looking both ways but not back, not towards the sign the car's under.

**Author's Note:**

> http://hopeful-fiction.livejournal.com/41058.html


End file.
